


The Long Trek

by InAmongstTheMountains



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 10:45:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4260366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InAmongstTheMountains/pseuds/InAmongstTheMountains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malcolm Hawke, born Marcus Aelius in Tevinter to a mage and an elf, would have lived his life as befit any talented and educated mage of the Imperium, but fate had other plans. When his tutor is murdered by a fellow magister for her research into Force magic, Marcus is forced to flee for his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Long Trek

_As I move through my later years, I have often contemplated telling the truth to my children and wife. But though I now believe the danger to be fully behind me, I am still hesitant. Leandra asked me once, and I would not speak of it, of the life and the man I left behind. How close I had been to the truth there. She never pressed me for it again, and I find a shard of sadness in my heart knowing her love for me superseded her pride. So I've never told the tale, of how I became Malcolm Hawke, of how I had crossed Thedas and been Maker-blessed with the fortune of meeting the woman of my dreams and having three beautiful children. This illness is going to claim me, I can feel it in my blood and bones. And once more I find myself wondering whether now is the time to finally tell my story, or to take the secret to my grave._

_\- Malcolm Hawke, Outside of Lothering, 9:27 Dragon_

\----

Within the great spires and extravagant libraries, under tutelage of a Magister of renown, with the blessed-fortune of each morning waking ready to push himself and the limits of his imagination, a mage of Tevinter reveled in the life he freely led. His name was Marcus Aelius, and for him magic was as natural as breathing.

“Concentrate, Marcus.”

The greatest part of his power, Marcus had long since decided, was the connecting to the Fade. It was the dance in the waves of energy that swept through you, the elements alive in your blood, the deft cloak a barrier left across your skin, the sing-song whispers of the spirits clamoring to see you change the waking world in a way they could only dream. Manipulating the Veil, drawing from dreams, pushing the limits of what could or could not be real: these were privileges, dangerous privileges, but privileges all the same. Today he was pushing the boundaries, and his heart raced in excitement, eager to make a mark on history. Marcus drew in a steadying breath.

"Aim."

He opened his eyes, focusing on the statue fifty paces down the hall. His target: a pulsing green glyph marked the center of his spell. The young mage's staff balanced carefully in hand, the enchanted metal thrummed under his fingertips. Not a sound stirred in the chamber as he slid into ready-position, waiting for the final command.

"Fire."

Alighting the magic around him, Marcus moved, staff up, swinging, focus: dead ahead. His mind fixated on the spell, the energy tingled from his chest through his fingertips. Another step, foot sliding, staff in its final arc, and release.

The spell, so different than its cousins, flew across the room, invisible and hasty, only to miss its mark, rocking the sculpture on its way past, only to echo with a resounding slap against the far wall. Powerful enough it was to shake the room, but he had missed his target none the less. Marcus slumped, frustrated, waiting for the inevitable remark from his tutor. Magister Livia Silvanius huffed with impatience and set down her notes.

"What went wrong." She asked, it sounded more a demand. For such a thin woman, Magister Livia had the distinct ability to command an entire room to her attention without speaking more than a few words. Not that she ever used this ability, it was a skill she found instead to be rather tiresome as she possessed little patience for dealing with sycophants and fools. Or people in general really. The last of a old line, marked by the defined lines, and subtle colors of ages of guided breeding, Livia kept her discerning eyes only on her work, she had no care for vanity, and only a passing interest in fashion. She could have been mistaken for a low tier enchanter, were it not for gleaming pin that marked her a member of the Magistirium.

"My aim, ma'am." Marcus responded diligently, rolling his staff in his hand. "The footwork, I should have practiced more."

"That you should have." The elder mage replied rolling up her sleeves, though Marcus knew her testy tone was not entirely unkind. "But it is less your feet, more your arm movements." Part taskmaster, part teacher, she bade him watch, shooing him from the mark he’d been standing on. Her staff, two twisted snakes, spun easily through the air, her motions more definitive than Marcus'. Her spell flew true, colliding with the marble effigy and sending it to the back wall, where it shattered. Dust  Livia's mouth drew in a satisfied line, her version of a smile, tucking a stray strand of blonde behind her ear.

"Force Magic," She lectured, handing Malcolm her stack of notes as a gesture for him to follow. They stepped out of the room as three elven servants, baskets and brooms in hand, silently slid in to take away the destroyed stone. "Is a magic of will and will alone. All mages poses some level of gusto needed to call on magical energies and throw around fire or heal minor cuts, but many, in my experience, lack willpower sufficient to maintain appropriate, steady levels of connection to the Fade. Thusly, they fail at sustained spells, their barriers have weak points, they cannot mend deep tears into tissue."

The pair stepped out into a sunlit hall, light streaming from the tall windows, illuminating the walls and the spires of Vol Dorma  and the lands beyond. Marcus had to squint against the harsh light; they'd been in the practice chamber since near dawn.

"The Very nature of force magic," Livia continued without a falter in her step, seemingly impervious to the blinding glow. "Is that only the strongest of wills, only the most definitive of minds, can wield it. Practice is possible, but if you are inadequate..."

Marcus's thoughts drifted, having heard her lecture before as he did most days after their examinations and practicals. His mentors intensity when it came to her study of magic bordered on overwhelming, and oft left his brain strained and body exhausted just trying to keep up. It had been days since he'd been able to take time outdoors. He missed the fresh air, listening to tails in the tavern, stealing a precious few hours with Seria....   

"Marcus, please pay attention."Livia had turned to him, her arms crossed, more resigned than frustrated. Marcus smiled embarrassedly, mumbling an apology to this teacher.

The elder mage sighed, her expression softened. "Marcus, do you know why I never have taken an apprentice before?"

Truthfully he did not. "No."

"I can't stand them, that's why." She sniffed, her frown bringing out the hard lines around her eyes and between her brows. "In my experience apprentices are needy, self-concerned, privileged, entitled nug-brains who believe that being born to an Altus gives them permission to do whatever they so desire. They are poor at accepting responsibility, punctuality, and never know when to hold their tongue. They're also a tremendous waste of money and resources. So, why do you think I put up with you?"

Marcus blanched, his abashed grin getting deeper, the tips of his ears red. "Because of my father?"

Livia shook her head. "No, it is not just because of your father. Peiro was good friend of mine, one of the few confidants I had." The magister wagged a finger at him. "I keep you around because you are none of the things I just listed." She huffed fondly and patted Marcus on the back, a foreign gesture from her both odd and endearing . "You're a smart and talented boy, Marcus, almost a man, and I know you'll do well for yourself."

Taking the stack of notes from his hands, Livia waved him off. "Have your afternoon, but be back here by sunset, we have that foolish gala tonight of Renatus'." Livia rolled her eyes, pained by the political necessity of dinners and fetes that interrupted her precious time spent experimenting.

Visibly brightening, Marcus nodded in respect. "I'll be punctual." He promised, already moving towards the exit and the freedom that awaited.

With a chuckle, Livia called after him. "This time you better!"

\---

The city of Vol Dorma, situated halfway up the Imperial Highway to Minrathous a southerners first impression of Tevinter. Like many archaic settlements in the Imperium, one couldn’t escape the towering and dramatic angles of their architecture, or the perfectly planned alignment of the ancient streets to the rising of the moon and constellations. While not the crown jewel that was the capital, it enjoyed the abundance that trade brought, growing fat on the opulence coming up from Orlais, the safety of being so far inland and away from Qunari soil, the spices and wines shipped down the Minanter River from Antiva and Rivain, all while being maintained by the resources surrounding it, and a veritable collection of slaves on loan from the state.

Marcus loved the city, the energy and the stories. How often had he come down just to clear his mind, to lose himself in the streets, to practice mimicking accents until even the most traveled foreigners couldn’t tell he’d been born and bred a mage of the Imperium. That had to be the best part of it, out in the city streets, he could be anyone. Marcus hadn’t a taste for the decadence and danger that covered Vol Dorma as dark and pervasive as the power-games and bribery of the other cities. Perhaps, he considered, snaking through the long side streets, why Livia tolerated him so. There was little sense in playing politics in Tevinter when you were an elf-blooded Laetans.

His magister-mentor, as far as Marcus knew, was the only other soul who knew the truth of his parentage, though she treated him none the worse for it. It had been years since his parents had lived, both having gone to the east, his father to assist in the effort against the Qunari. A week after his tenth birthday, he got the news. That was over seven years ago.

Shaking the cloudy thoughts from his mind, Marcus set off with renewed vigor. Seira waited for him.

The second daughter of one of Vol Dorma’s handful of magisters, Seira contained every ounce of confidence and grace her blood allowed, and then some. Marcus could never help himself watching her, they way she moved like a dream, how every lovely sigh and flutter of her eyelashes appeared so charming and serendipitous despite the cunning measure with which she weighed every motion and caught every reaction. She danced far out of his league, knew every secret before it started, her used her magic to inspire as much fear as awe, and he knew it. Sometimes her intensity shocked him (on occasion, literally) but despite all of that, Marcus couldn’t help but come tail-wagging back, time and time again.

“There you are.” Seira floated down from her steps to ring her arms about his neck, a jet-haired, emerald eyed vision in silver and Antivan indigo silk. “And here I was worried you’d forgotten all about me.”

Marcus beamed at her, praying he didn’t look as giddy as he felt. “I could never, though it has been a while.”

She kissed him first, dragging him to her lips by the collar of his robes. “We have catching up to do.” Her mouth curled devilishly and a breathless Marcus had not a moment to protest before he stumbled after her through a servants door and into the shadowy corridors of her father’s home.

Seria wasted no time with him, evidently having prepared for such a rendezvous, though how she could have known totally escaped the poor boy still playing catch-up. He barely got a word out before her mouth was back on his, fierce, confident. Marcus could have sworn he saw the Veil itself, light-headed and dizzy from her prolonged kisses. He didn’t remember falling to the couch, or his hands grasping her hips. But something was off. Seria noticed it too, and her fury dimmed.

“You’re staring off past the Veil, Marcus.” She pouted, drawing her lips to one side, sweeping her hair back. “What’s on your mind?”

Much like Livia, her question begeted more a demand that query, Marcus shrugged, his fingers trailing down her arm. “Anything and everything.”

Crawling off of his lap, she settled on the divan next to him. “That’s informative.” In the shadows of her room, he could hear the rolling of her eyes.

“Do you ever want to leave?” He asked, the wisps of his earlier thoughts while en route filtering back. “See the world, experience another life, do something different beyond Vol Dorma?”

Seria’s silly little titter cut deeper than it rightfully should have. “Well maybe move up to Minrathous, live by the sea. But live another life? Oh Marcus, why would you want to? We are mages in Tevinter. My father is rich, a senior enchanter and personal friend to the Divine, your mentor is powerful and childless, meaning she will likely pass her Senate seat to you. Everything you could want or need is right here.” The girl huffed as if that settled the matter, shaking herself out and readjusting her bodice. “Where would you even go? Word is the backwater south is soon to have a new King.” Ever the lady, only a smile displayed the humor she took in her own joke.

Marcus shrugged, half-heartedly hiding his disappointment with her answer. Not a single thing she said had the slightest ring of appeal to him. The silence crept between them, daring to stifle the mood entirely. Conscious of it, the young woman next to him, huffed and crossed the room to her closet, lighting the candles in her room with quick points.

“Shall I go with burgundy or ash for Magister Duran’s party tonight?” She spun, for his opinion, holding up two of her flashier robes for his opinion.

“Ash.” He answered after a fashion, following Seria as she moved through her possessions, selecting jewelry to match. “You’re going?”

“Of course, anyone who is anyone will be there?” She spoke to her mirror, scrutinizing the state of her hair and make-up. “Will you be there?” The way she spoke felt distinctly patronizing, leaving Marcus out of sorts.

“We will.” He said, but no more, falling silent while Seira preened. The both of them knew that Livia had no choice but to attend. Try as she might, she could not pretend that she could have no hand in politics. Livia may have viewed her seat as a nuisance, but playing the games, navigating the careful dance of Tevinter politics was a necessity if she wanted to keep both her respect and her funding. While Lady Livia may have sufficiently tricked the rest of Vol Dorma into believing she was a bitter recluse, Marcus knew the second reason she oh so loathed any formal event. Over twenty five magisters called the city their home, the sprawling estates and elegant cuts of their buildings took up nearly a quarter of the walled limits. In the shadows and behind their towering doors they plotted, taking every inch they could, trading favor and funds for prestige and power. Most left Livia alone. She barely made a voice in the Senate, carried on no old family feuds, and her standoffish and reclusive nature meant that there was no favor or fault to be gained with her. Left in peace it was an arrangement good for the both for all of them, save one.

Magister Euvan Renatus had made it his life’s mission to hound Livia. While not a mage of particularly notoriety or talent, few could match the sharpness of his schemes, or the bite and vil taste his words left in peoples mouths. Livia once described him as an adder hidden in the body of a weasel: tricky, vicious, and small brained. He wanted her research, her most carefully guarded secrets. Force Magic was a new field, one pioneered by Magister Silvanius, and if ever shared with the Archon, would propel the informant to the highest echelons of Tevinter society, a whisper in the ear of the Imperium’s most powerful mage himself. Livia, Marcus could say without a sliver of doubt, would rather die than see her research misused.

Renatus would be there tonight, in his element, ever reminded that he’s always been one step behind Livia and his goals, and Livia would have to show herself, to meet him and deny him once more, no matter how she detested the man. Either way, Marcus was not looking forward to tonight.

Having finally finished considering her appearance. Seria found her way back to Marcus’ side. She tucked close and traced his lips with a lazy finger. The young apprentice wanted to find some kind of satisfaction in her touch, to let go of the pressure building within him, burdened as he was by task and choice, but there was no desire in her today. Or maybe it was him.

Seira surveyed him, not missing a facet of his face and open thoughts. “If you’re going, you’d best be off to get ready.” She smiled and straightened his overcoat. “You’ll need to look dashing enough to dance with me at least once.”

Expression faltering, he took her hand in his, rubbing circles into her her joints and palms. Marcus kissed her knuckles. “I’ll see you tonight then?”

A pleasant hum came in response. “I’ll be in grey, waiting.”

 **  
** “Til then.” With one final goodbye, he slid back down the servants stairs, out through the kitchens, and back into the afternoon sunlight.


End file.
